Excerpt: Sweat Equity

March 16, 2012 Feature, Spotlight 0

Sara smiled at the man next to her. He’d taken her world and yanked it into his orbit so hard and fast her head still spun some days. God help her she did love him. She put a hand on his sweat-slicked chest, and draped a leg over his. The smell of sex permeated the bedroom. She propped up on her elbow and touched his check.

“Hmm?” his sleepy voice reminded her how much they both needed more shut eye having passed out rather than actually rested last night. He pulled her close. “I’m sorry,” he muttered into her hair. “It’s just.” She nodded into his shoulder. “Shit week, you know. All this wedding talk is not my thing or something. I don’t know. I do know I don’t deserve you.”

“Yeah, that is true. Look, we still have dinner with my parents tonight. My dad is a know-it-all doctor. I dread having the two of you in the same room, frankly, but we have to do it. They’re my family and they want to meet you.”

She felt him tense beneath her.

“That’s fine. I’ll be on my best behavior. But I don’t want him paying for any of this,” he swept a hand towards the small table where she’d piled up magazines and spreadsheets of

wedding planning paraphernalia. “I’m doing it. You’re grown, not some little girl needing daddy’s money anymore.”

She bit her lip. “If he wants to I’m not going to stop him. It’s his prerogative. Can’t you just go with it?” She sat up, swung her legs to the floor.

Dear God he was so unbelievably stubborn!

He sang the same song, different verse, every time. They’d fight, he’d make up by making love to her. She’d let him. They wouldn’t talk about it. Again.

Sighing she stood, stretched her sated and tingling body, her mind back on the massive list of shit to do today. Glancing over her shoulder, she allowed herself a long look at the man who would be her husband. His six-foot five-inch frame firm, legs and arms covered with a light dusting of black hair; torso mostly bare, but for a line of jet-black hair beneath his navel leading down to the part of his body that he had, apparently, shared with so many. Her eyes trailed up, to his firm, square jaw, in need of a shave. Her palm itched to reach out, feel the sandpapery rasp of it, keeping him real.


How completely unreal this still seemed, even now after he’d given her yet another mind-boggling set of back-to-back orgasms. That should’ve been solid evidence he was there, with her, “hers” even. But he wasn’t. That small voice in her head, the “Old Sara,” with its nagging and worry, poked her psyche once again. You’re too alike. It will never work. Jack’s eyes opened, at the sound of his own light snore. His sleepy grin made her smile in spite of her heavy heart.

She was no sap. Her own parent’s relationship had made her a cynic to the extreme when it came to men. She knew it. She fully acknowledged her own emotional constipation. Yet, she let the man who currently held her heart in his large, talented hands tug her down onto the bed, into the circle of his arms. His skin, smell, and feel eased her as always. She closed her eyes, just for a few minutes.

XXX Rated –

Sara knew she hovered at a precipice. She could make a choice. At that moment, her body craved release but her brain had settled; her nerves no longer jangled as they had been doing for weeks. The rough sound of his voice, the touch of his hand, just the looks he’d been shooting her all night had brought her to that moment. She took a breath and let it take her, let her body fully relax for the first time in months.

As if he sensed her giving way, he held on tight from behind, cupping her breasts, then moving down to tease her clit and pussy again, never staying in one place long. “I think we need one more thing, don’t you?” He must have shed his shirt at some point and the delicious sensation of his flesh against her back made her sigh, and arch her hips. He put a foot between hers, shoving his thigh against her pussy. She moved her hips, ground against his leg, needing to climax so badly she wanted to cry. She did cry, could hear herself sobbing; could feel the tears slip out from under the blindfold.

“Arch your back Sara,” Jack commanded as he pushed one leg away from the other, forcing her legs apart.

Panic shot through her. The moment she’d been attacked last year came swirling through her brain. She tugged at the restraint over her head.

“No, I can’t. I’m scared. My feet are getting numb. I can’t—I can’t feel my hands. Jack.” Her voice sounded breathy, anxious, but her brain kept pouring some kind of calming elixir over her nerves. It had to be the strangest sensation in the world. Abject terror, white-hot fury, and a clean pure jolt of need warred in her. Then nothing. Crystal clear calm made it all the turbulence, all the chaos of her last year fade into nothingness, like it had never happened. She tasted her own tears.

“I know. Give it to me. Let me have it.” He bit her neck, ran a hand across her ass. “Give it to me Sara.” She winced when his palm met her flesh, the smacking sound echoing around in her ears. “It’s mine. All of it. Your fear, hate, anger, love—it’s mine. Give it to me.” He smacked her again, then once more, harder. “Come. Now.” Her body obeyed even as the astonishing tranquility poured through her psyche. Fluid coated her thighs as she moaned, cried his name, but couldn’t hear herself. Her words slurred and her vision darkened behind the blindfold. The orgasm plowed her under, made her whole body release energy from the tip of her tingling scalp to her shaking toes. She slumped, letting the leather hold her up, pull at her sore shoulders.

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